


thanatopsis

by BlazingSun01



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Family Feels, Gen, i swear this isnt as angsty, ichigo swears a lot, ichigos an eldritch being but its Fine, mayhaps was inspired by bloodborne, no beta we die like men, tatsuki gets powers, yuzu and karin get powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-10-02 15:45:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17266913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlazingSun01/pseuds/BlazingSun01
Summary: By the time Ichigo was seven, he was declared a danger to the worldly balance and was cast down from the World and into Hell. AU





	1. the fool

 

 

A seven-year-old Ichigo Kurosaki trembled in the heat of the unfamiliar place. The man–more of a monster than a man–had brought him to this place. He fell for so long, seeing the colors and the worlds pass by him. He laid on the black ground, staring up at the now dark skies.

 

He missed his family. He missed his mom, with her radiant smile. He missed his little sisters, so small and cute. He missed his dad, as goofy as he was.

 

He wanted to go home.

 

And then there was a whisper– no, not a sound but a feeling. It echoed in his head and Ichigo looked towards the murky yellow sky.

 

That day, a seven-year-old Ichigo Kurosaki gazed upon the form of Hell.

 

* * *

 

 

Looking for a lost child in Hell was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Most of the inhabitants were giant Kushanada and sinners with dark chains growing out of them. A child should stand out amongst them, but Hell was too large and sprawling with its different layers.

 

But Aizen could sense a wisp of reiatsu, one that seemed chaotic yet in total balance. It was a poor attempt at concealing reiatsu, at least by Captain standards. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Someone was watching them.

 

Tousen had already drawn his sword, sensing the reiatsu in the area. Gin’s hand had only touched his zanpakto’s hilt. The air was thick with tension.

 

And then suddenly Aizen dodged out of the way, reflexively moving away from the black blade that was about to strike him in the head from behind, a strike aiming to kill and would have succeeded if he hadn’t moved.

 

“Shoot to Kill, Shinso.”

 

There was a slight noise of surprise as the figure leapt out of the way, balancing carefully meters away from them, two swords, a rather large blade and a trench knife. For some reason, Aizen could barely make out his features, as if his face was shrouded by mist yet it should be as clear as day. All he could see was a boy with long striking orange hair, a ragged shihakusho, and two eyes, one brown and the other gold with black sclera.

 

“Are you Ichigo Kurosaki?” Aizen asked.

 

The boy scowled. “How the hell do you know that? Who’re you?”

 

Aizen ignored the crass language. “My name is Aizen Sosuke, and please lower your blade.”

 

Ichigo growled. “You’re shinigami, aren’t you. You’re wearing those shitty white robes, just like _he_ did.”

 

Aizen’s eyebrows rose. “Him?”

 

Ichigo stayed silent and rushed at Aizen with both blades drawn. Kaname’s sword clashed between the longer sword and Ichigo leapt back when Shinso extended between Ichigo and his sword. “Stand down,” Aizen ordered. The boy should respect strength, as many violent creatures do. Kaname opened his mouth, about to protest when a blue slash of blue reiatsu hurtled from the black blade in silence.

 

“Bakudo 81: Danku,” Aizen intoned, calling upon the translucent barrier and cancelling out the blast and a loud explosion and cloud of dust erupted in front of them. To his side, a small boom echoed in a familiar sound, one he heard in Hueco Mundo.

 

A flurry of blades slashed at Aizen, grazing his chest and would have done serious damage if he did not move. Ichigo swept his trench blade to block the returning strike and brought down his zanpakto down on Kyoka Suigetsu, catching the blade between the whole in the cleaver blade and blue sparks began to fly from the blade like firecrackers. “Getsuga Tenshou.”

 

Aizen first saw the blood fly from Ichigo’s hand and then the blade in it, stretched from a distance. The reiatsu gathering from the blade stopped, bursting before it could even finish. “Looked like you were having trouble, Captain Aizen,” Gin’s smile was as sharp as his zanpakto. A string of loud repetitive curses erupted from Ichigo’s mouth and he dashed back with sonido. Tousen flashed behind him struck downwards into Ichigo’s shoulder, digging deep into flesh and Ichigo hardly flinched and instantly struck back, his sword gashing into Tousen’s hand and would have taken it off if he had been any slower.

 

Ichigo’s lips were pulled back into snarl. His shoulder bubbled up, white mixed with red blood as the muscle and bone sew itself back together, leaving nothing but new skin behind. “Fucker,” Ichigo spat at Tousen. Tousen had no reply and pointed his sword upwards and moved his arm in a clock-wise direction. “Suzumushi Nishiki: Benihikō” Tousen commanded and hundreds of blades formed from thin air. Ichigo swore again and flashed away as the weapons continued to rain down on the places he once stood.

 

Another sonido and Ichigo was gone. The blistering reiatsu signature appeared meters away but it wasn’t the rapid rise of reiatsu that alerted him, but the sudden red light pooling the area. Ichigo’s palm was stretched out, red and black mixing together in harmony and giving the almost miniature sun a dangerous glow, burning so bright that Aizen could _feel_ the temperature rise from the concentration of energy. Ichigo’s mouth was twisted into a wide grin befitting of a predator, a hollow.

 

Aizen’s eyes widened.

 

“Cero!”

 

Aizen would have cursed too if he didn’t have a dignified exterior. He casted another _Danku_ , the shield protecting him and his cohorts from the blast of energy but not the shockwave. Wind and dirt whipped around them as the very ground trembled from the sheer force. The explosions seemed to go on forever and then time seemed to stop, still with anticipation.

 

“Are you _shitting_ me?” Ichigo’s voice rose an octave amid the smoke. The smoke dissipated enough that Aizen could see Ichigo but gazing directly at him was difficult to the point of nausea. His form wavered as if he was not fully within the plane of reality, unstable to the point where he appeared to be glitching. Ichigo seemed to shift and all Aizen saw was a black form of _something_ that seemed to pierce the endless skies of Hell, a chaotic amalgamation composed of shadowy flames that somehow gave off light. When Aizen blinked, the monster disappeared, or rather changed shape into something he could perceive.

 

The situation was getting dangerous. Ichigo’s mismatched eyes fixed on Aizen with murderous intent. His hand began to lift again and Aizen’s hand already grabbed the hilt of his sword and he drew it bringing it high into Ichigo’s view. “Shatter, Kyoka Suigetsu.”

 

“What the fuck did you do,” Ichigo hissed, the alarm barely hidden from his voice. Both of his zanpakto were in his hands, poised to defend himself from the perceived threat.

 

The battle was already won.

 

Ichigo’s eyes widened and he slashed the air around him, attacking the enemy that did not exist. “Already using the hypnosis?” Gin teased.

 

“At the moment, he was a threat,” Aizen responded. “But now he can do nothing against me.”

 

He raised his hand. “Bakudo 61: Rikujōkōrō.” Yellow beams of light tore into Ichigo’s torso, pinning his arms to his sides. The illusion shattered and Ichigo screamed in fury, reiatsu growing heavy with darkness as he struggled in the bonds. His other eye began to rapidly hollowfy and

 

“What the hell did you do?” Ichigo snarled, his form shifting and churning like an ocean. Wings, seven eyes, a mess of shapes, shadows, and light seemed to take his place in his frenzy. Aizen focused his attention to the space around him. “What do you want from me?”

 

“What I want?” Aizen mused. “I want to take the Soul King’s throne.”

 

Ichigo stared at him in disbelief and let out a harsh laugh. “Are you fucking with me? You, take the Soul King’s throne?”

 

Aizen smiled through the mocking. “And what of it? Do you not know what the Soul King is?”

 

His laughter died away. “I have an idea,” Ichigo muttered, looking away. Aizen’s smile widened, sharp like a dagger.

 

“The Soul King is the reason you are down here,” Aizen began, his tone changed to something resembling pity. “Do you not want justice?” Ichigo was silent, staring at the ground. Aizen continued. “I would like you to join me to kill the Soul King.”

 

“You really want to kill the Soul King?” Ichigo scoffed. “I thought he was the shinigami’s god?” He paused. “Unless you’ve betrayed the Shinigami.”

 

Aizen did not need to respond. Ichigo’s eyes narrowed. “So, a bunch of traitors. Why should I trust people who would betray their own?”

 

“Because I can take you out of Hell,” Aizen responded. “You can leave with me.”

 

Ichigo snorted. “Leave Hell‒ why would I want to do that? Hell was kind to me.”

 

“You’re a creepy kid, huh. No sane person would find Hell comforting,” Gin mused. Ichigo sent a glare.

 

“But you are a prisoner, do you not want freedom?” Aizen asked. Ichigo stared at him, his head tilted as if he was listening to something–or someone. The silence stretched on until Ichigo’s gaze focused.

 

“Fine, I’ll go with you.”

 

Aizen smiled. “Excellent decision.”

 

* * *

 

 

Karin’s bow was flimsy at best. She pursed her lips and tried to focus on stabilizing the reiatsu in her hand and it wavered violently. She glanced to the side. Yuzu’s bow was more solid, but she frowned at it as if she noticed something off. They really weren’t supposed to practice without parent supervision, mostly Masaki’s supervision.

 

Yuzu seemed unfocused, her brow furrowed. “Karin, did you hear something?”

 

Karin frowned, her fingers trying to balance the reishi. “Not really.”

 

Yuzu kept looking outside with veiled impatience. “When are Mom and Dad coming home?”

 

“They said they had a meeting with someone,” Karin responded, not looking up. They were normally never left alone, but it must have been urgent for their parents to leave them home alone.

 

“Yeah, but…”

 

Then Karin heard it, a bone-chilling scream that echoed through the night. Yuzu’s eyes went wide. “Hollow.” Karin nearly swore and before they could do anything, the walls gave way as a not entirely human hand burst through.

 

She was lost in the chaos as debris scattered. She coughed and sputtered, and her vison blurred. “Yuzu!” She called out. She bit back a yell when she moved her arm. She glanced down, and her arm was bent in an unnatural position. Broken.

 

There was a shape, dark with a white mask, hunched over with teeth bared. Karin nearly screamed when she saw Yuzu’s unconscious body on the ground, vulnerable with enough spiritual power to be of consideration.

 

“Hey, Hollow!” Karin shouted. Her instincts screamed at her to shut up, to _run_ as the hollow turned to face her. Her arm was broken, and she could barely form a bow, she was _useless_. But she couldn’t let it go near Yuzu.

 

Then all Karin could see was black as someone moved in front of her. A sword gleamed at her side with deadly light. A Shinigami.

 

Karin froze, a Shinigami would be dangerous, especially with Karin’s heritage. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. “Stay back, human!” the Shinigami ordered.

 

“Wait, but my sister‒”

 

“I’ll get her, you stay back.”

 

The hollow roared in challenge and the Shinigami moved forward, flashing behind it and slashing behind it. The hollow growled and darted past her towards Yuzu.

 

Time felt like it had slowed, and her body moved. She flew forwards in a hasty Hirenkyaku, moving clumsily in front of her sister. She didn’t have time for doubts, the thoughts of any self-preservation were out the window and she prepared to take the blow, praying for blut vene to just activate for once in her life and squeezed her eyes shut.

 

Blood splattered on her face and she opened her eyes cautiously.

 

The Shinigami was in front of her again, the hollow’s teeth digging into her shoulder. “Why did you do that?” The Shinigami demanded. She pried the hollow’s jaw off her arm and stumbled back, blood dripping from the wound. She slumped to the ground, panting and clenching her wound.

 

“We’re finished,” the Shinigami said almost matter-of-factly. “The hollow is going to eat us all.”

 

“No,” Karin whispered, and then her tone became firmer and louder. “No. I refuse to accept this. There has to be something we can do.”

 

The Shinigami paused, and her expression became resigned, as if preparing herself for something painful. “I can give you my powers,” the Shinigami said. “I’m in no shape to fight, but _you_ can.”

 

“I’ll do it!” Karin responded without hesitation.

 

The Shinigami’s gaze focused, and she readied her sword. “I’ll have to stab you.”

 

Karin forced a smirk. “Well, can’t be the worst thing I’ve done.” She pressed her hands on the blade.

 

It was a spur in the moment, one last thing Karin wanted to know in case she died here. “What’s your name?”

 

The Shinigami smiled. “My name is Rukia Kuchiki.”

 

“Karin Kurosaki.”

 

And then the blade slid through her chest and power erupted from her body.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aizen: damn bitch u live like this?
> 
> jhdskajd im tiREd and i decided to finally write this and guess what! still cant write summaries.


	2. in memoriam, the past

Hueco Mundo was dark and cold. It wasn’t just physically cold, but the sheer emptiness that made everything feel frigid. The sand under his feet crunched under Ichigo’s bare feet like crushed bones, mounting into dunes of sand and bones that carried on for what seemed like eternity. A few trees stuck out, like skeletal hands clawing their way out of the ground and grasping for the heavens. The sky was a black body, devoid of stars and absorbed light like a black hole. The Moon hung overhead, gazing in vigil over the boundless lands with the protection of a watchful mother.

Ichigo wrapped his arms around his body. His mind felt empty. He wasn’t used to the radio silence as opposed to the faint static that came with Hell’s presence in his thoughts. Zangetsu remained in the back of his mind as a whisper, both a calming force in his life.

_“We’re here for you,”_ came the voice of Old Man Zangetsu. His voice was soothing and Ichigo’s muscles relaxed a little. He was still tense as he mentally prepared himself for an attack. His gaze flitted towards the Shinigami, studying the traitors out of his peripheral vision. He wasn’t a fool, he knew that traitors betrayed more than once. Only a fool trusted people like them.

But he had a use for them, or he would have been content with submerging them in the magma or letting the _Kushanada_ tear them apart.

The Soul King, that name embittered his tongue. The Shinigami’s god, a being that held the delicate balance between Life and Death, weaving it into a dream. He stole Ichigo away from his family, ripping away Ichigo’s life away from him. He missed his family, but it wasn’t like he could waltz back into their lives. He’s long since accepted what happened to him when he’s had time to think and mull his life over. He could no longer remember his mother’s perfume, from when she pulled him into a hug and rested her head on his.

Maybe she smelled like lilies, but he wasn’t too sure anymore.

But if the traitors could even bring him close to his goal, then so be it.

* * *

 

Las Noches, in contrast with the ombre of Hueco Mundo, was stark white. Hueco Mundo felt despairingly empty but there was a subtle life to it compared to the sterile castle that was Las Noches. Ichigo could easily lose himself in the sprawling labyrinths that made up the base. He followed Aizen and glanced around, letting his eyes wander and taking in the new setting as much as he could.

It was painfully boring but Ichigo hadn’t left Hell for years.

_“Even I Spy wouldn’t be entertaining,”_ Zangetsu sniffed. Ichigo agreed, even though he easily got bored from that game.

“So, what happens?” Ichigo asked.

“I will introduce you to my Espada, my ten finest Arrancar warriors,” Aizen replied.

Ichigo knows of Arrancar, hybrids between Shinigami and Hollow. “The Espada, huh.”

“They are ranked in power from Cero to Novena, the Cero also being the Diez,” Aizen explained.

“What the fuck is a Cero.” Ichigo frowned. “And what the fuck is a Diez and Novena.”

Aizen’s tone shifted, honeyed, slow, and condescending, as if he were talking to a five-year-old. “Those are numbers. Cero is Zero and Novena is nine while Diez is ten. I ranked my army from one to ten.”

Ichigo’s brow furrowed as his brain tried to process that logic. “Why is the strongest the weakest, that makes no sense.”

Aizen didn’t respond, stopping in front of a tall pair of door. Ichigo gave a wide breadth. His fingers itched to grasp for Zangetsu’s blades and storm out of the base in a rampage, but he let himself stay calm. Zangetsu told him that Hollows were dictated by instinct, and that any weakness or loss of confidence was basically writing the words ‘weak’ on a forehead.

Without hesitation, Ichigo entered the room after Aizen. The room was spacious with marble and columns shooting upwards and a marble throne mounted above a slab of stone that towered above them. Ichigo wanted to scoff at the grandeur.

Ichigo finally noticed the people in the room. They gave off a Hollow signature, yet it was mixed in with that foul signature that clung to Aizen. The people varied in colors and appearance, from pink to blue to a head -mask and a spoon-shaped hood. Ichigo briefly wondered if he stumbled upon a circus.

He felt eyes on him as well as the subtle harder stares as they focused on perceiving his form. He resisted the urge to shrink, fully aware of how he appears to other, and hardened his gaze into a scowl.

 He felt eyes on him as well as the harder stares as they focused on perceiving his form. He resisted the urge to shrink, fully aware of how he appears to other, and hardened his gaze into a scowl.

“So, this is the one you decided to recruit?” A blue-haired Hollow sneered. “He’s a kid!”

Ichigo’s finger twitched on Zangetsu’s hilt. Old Man’s presence curled around him, cooling his rising temperament and a mask of indifference slid over his face.

Aizen just smirked― _that bastard_ ―and looked at Ichigo. “I can assure you, he is capable.” His smile sharpened like a wolf. “Unless you’re willing to test his power, Grimmjow?”

“Nah, he probably can’t handle it,” Grimmjow scoffed.

“That’s fine,” Ichigo grinned mischievously. “I just didn’t expect much from someone who looks like he lost a fight with a hairbrush.”

Grimmjow bristled and cocky grin melted into an animalistic snarl as he lunged forward. Ichigo leaned away from the reaching hand, “You know what? I wouldn’t mind testing his skills.”

Zangetsu slid into his hands with practiced grace, just in time for his blades to block Grimmjow’s attack. Zangetsu’s raucous laugher rang in his head like a siren and the blades hummed in harmony. Ichigo’s lips tugged into a grin and bloodlust surged from Grimmjow’s blade in a storm. A strike to the side, caught by Zangetsu instincts. A jab aimed for Grimmjow’s chest. Sparks sprayed, and blades clashed as they moved in a dance around each other. Ichigo lost himself in the haze of battle, his mind a machine as he moved fluidly between Grimmjow’s strikes.

A stab from Grimmjow and Ichigo raised Zangetsu’s larger blade and caught Grimmjow’s blade in the hole in his blade and twisted his wrist, yanking both arms to the side to knock Grimmjow’s hand off his sword. But Grimmjow’s hand was steady with the poise of a practiced swordsman, not like the Sinners in Hell, who’s movements were clumsy and without purpose. Ichigo hid a grin― _Zangetsu’s_ grin.

“Not bad, kid!” Grimmjow’s laughed. Grimmjow leapt around him in a storm of _sonido_ , flashing around Ichigo with speed that he could thankfully manage. Every strike was deflected by Zangetsu’s smaller counterpart and he struck back with the larger, a flurry of offense and defense. Grimmjow’s expression soured as they fought on, perhaps boredom from the lack of any changes.

Grimmjow’s sword stabbed forward and Ichigo moved his body to the right, anticipating the move but Grimmjow’s other hand shot forwards and punched Ichigo in the chest. The air was knocked out of his chest and he choked, stunned from the sudden attack and he reflexively stumbled back to gain some distance.

That was what Grimmjow was waiting for. Grimmjow sped forward in a _sonido_ and planted his foot in Ichigo’s stomach. He repressed the urge to retch from the force of the kick but Grimmjow kept up his assault. Ichigo couldn’t raise his arms to shield him from the onslaught, every kick and punch knocking out his focus and his ability to form some sort of defense. His side ached and felt tender, probably littered with bruises and blood dribbled from the side of his mouth. Ichigo snarled, his mismatched eyes wild as Grimmjow gripped the front of his Shihakusho and yanked him upward so Ichigo dangled above the ground and Ichigo clawed at Grimmjow’s hand with ferocity.

“Is this really all you’ve got?” Grimmjow jeered. He leaned in and his grin was stretched into a crescent of white fangs. “I guess Aizen-sama was wrong about you. All he brought back was a weakling.”

Ichigo audibly growled. No one called him a weakling. No one could make him feel weak ever again. He kicked and flailed, trying to release Grimmjow’s iron grip. Grimmjow’s hands moved to his neck, squeezing around his throat and bringing the fight to an early end. Ichigo choked and forced the bubbling panic down. His vision dimmed, edging into darkness.

_“Fight Back!”_ Zangetsu screeched in his mind. _“Since when did_ we _ever bow down to anyone?”_

The darkness lingered. Everything was muted and gray and all Ichigo could focus on was the blurring face of Grimmjow and his _stupid_ smug grin. Grimmjow was an absolute prick, and he hated his type. Hell was already full of people like him.

A fury erupted, igniting flames in is soul. Ichigo gritted his teeth and focused on his soul, the inferno burning with the flames of the Sun.

Ichigo focused on that and pulled it from his burning soul, aiming forward and a smirk of satisfaction stretched his face when he heard a howl of pain and he crumpled to the floor. Ichigo’s vision swam and blurred but he saw the familiar black in sight. He steadied himself off the ground shakily. As his sight began to focus, he finally could see the plumes of black flames, dark as night, spreading along Grimmjow’s arm, consuming the flesh. There was no light, the flames black like a hole.

Ichigo grimaced as darkness seeped into his eyes and his skin burned as fire laced underneath, his body shivered involuntarily with the absence of heat. He loved and hated his flames, relishing in the power but despising the effects. He called the flames back, allowing the shadow-like flames to slink back into Ichigo’s furnace of a soul.

 

Grimmjow’s arm was ruined. The flesh disintegrated and muscles red and raw, exposed to the elements with bone peeking out. His skin was black and practically ash, no doubt the nerve tissue was utterly destroyed. Grimmjow’s eyes leveled at him with unfettered rage. “You―”

“Sorry,” Ichigo spat. “I missed the rest of your body.”

“Fucker,” Grimmjow bit back and reached for his sword. Ichigo readied Zangetsu, prepared for an attack.

“Wait–”

But Grimmjow’s grin sharpened maniacally and an unease filled Ichigo as he saw that smile. Grimmjow’s fingers pressed on the blade’s middle and it began to glow a bright blue and he slid his hand down to the hilt. “Grind, Pantera!”

_Fuck_. Ichigo scrambled back. No one in Hell transformed like this. He’s heard of this type of transformation from Zangetsu, a power that Hollows possessed. An explosion of power erupted from the Arrancar, dust whipped around them and smoke and debris hid Grimmjow from sight.

Grimmjow’s clothing changed, becoming a white armored bodysuit and his hair lengthened to his lower back in a wild mane. Green ear-like protrusions formed from his head conjoined with a white crown-like structure and _wait_ _was that a fucking tail_ ―

Ichigo reeled back with a sudden slash to the face. Claws, _of course_. Ichigo bit back a yell and raised his sword to retaliate but Grimmjow was _gone_. From behind, another slash and Ichigo hissed. His back felt warm and tingly and his skin felt cool against the air of Hueco Mundo. He had never met anyone so _fast_. He could barely even see Grimmjow slipping in and out of his peripheral vision in a blur.

There was no time to attack back. His blood solidified with reishi and his skin hardened into steel. A claw clang against Ichigo’s arm. Ichigo caught Grimmjow’s hand, digging his fingers in as deep as he could and brought all his weight downwards. Grimmjow leapt back and roared. Sonic waves tore into the ground in a blast and Ichigo flew back from the force. He thrusted Zangetsu into the ground and squeezed the hilt as tight as he could.

There was no way Ichigo could keep up with Grimmjow, not like this. _C’mon, Zangetsu._

A cackle echoed in his head and Ichigo felt reiatsu explode from his body. His skull tingled and burned as a horn forged from his head and a hole burst in his chest. Ichigo grimaced, trying to hide the horn unbalancing his body to the left side.

The dust settled and Grimmjow stared at his new form. “What the hell is _that_.”

Ichigo gave him a stink eye. “I didn’t insult _your_ transformation, you furry motherfucker.”

Grimmjow growls and raised his arm. Ichigo noticed the green spikes bursting from the elbow.

_Shit_.

Five missiles hurtled towards him and Ichigo flashed behind Grimmjow. There was no time for a stronger attack. A red light formed at his horn and Grimmjow turned his back to face him, eyes wide and furious. “Bala!”

An explosion of scarlet caught Grimmjow in the back. Grimmjow hissed and swung his arm at him, his claw digging into Ichigo’s face. Ichigo’s hands wrapped around Grimmjow’s hands as he tried to yank Grimmjow’s hand off and managed to move his head slightly.

“ _Desga_ ‒shit!” Grimmjow yelped as Ichigo’s teeth sank into his hand. Blood tainted his mouth, metallic and possibly infected with all sorts of horrible diseases that the flea-mangled cat would have. Grimmjow’s hand moved wildly, trying to shake Ichigo off. “Get off, you feral animal!”

He slammed his hand into the ground, taking Ichigo’s head with him. In the shock, Ichigo’s jaw loosened, allowing Grimmjow’s hand to wriggle free from his grip. Ichigo spat a few droplets in his direction and wiped his mouth on his torn sleeves as he stumbled back up.

“What, is that all you got?” Ichigo’s voice was slurred and he hid his swaying the best he could. His brain felt like a puddle of snow, slow and not very bright. Grimmjow shot forwards and grabbed his face again. Ichigo’s reflexes were shot, his mind blank and confused as he tried to react. His sight was mostly dark, turning red as a familiar hum, one he’s made many times, formed and brightening his vision.

 He couldn’t bite his way out of this. Ichigo flung his arm out instinctively and brought his knee up and pushed forward, pushing Grimmjow away. He didn’t give Grimmjow a chance to recover. His hand gripped Grimmjow’s collar and Ichigo focused his flames into his eyes. Grimmjow’s eyes widened and Ichigo felt as if he were no longer standing there. Was he even standing? Everything felt hazy, like a dream, and his wings felt cramped, his sight multiplied, his body twisted with shadows and fire, and his tail―

Ichigo took a deep breath and forced himself back to reality. He dropped his hold and Grimmjow hobbled back, staring at him in horror, like he was a monster.

He was.

A clap resounded through the room, slow and meticulous. Ichigo’s head whipped around to face Aizen’s self-satisfied smile at the displaye. “Excellently done, Grimmjow and Ichigo Kurosaki.” Ichigo let his transformation drop, panting but his muscles tensed and prepared for a sneak attack from Grimmjow. He was panting, drained from the fighting. Grimmjow’s weird cat form fell as well and Grimmjow stared at Aizen.

“Are you replacing one of us with him?” Grimmjow’s voice edged with bitterness and loathing directed at both Aizen and Ichigo.

“No,” Aizen answered. “I’m not replacing any Espada members today.” Ichigo sighed with relief. He was not willing to put up with anymore of this nonsense and he already wanted to go home.

“He will, however, be my right-hand man,” Aizen followed up. “After all, he’s strong enough.”

Ichigo wanted to scream but repressed the urge. “Whatever,” he responded as dully as possible.

“Now, you need to be fully initiated,” Aizen said. “I have provided a uniform for you, Ulquiorra will see to it.” Ichigo shot one glare at him before glancing at the line of Arrancars. A pale Arrancar, green-eyed with tear marks streaking down his cheeks stepped forward.

“Follow me, Ichigo Kurosaki,” Ulquiorra called.

* * *

 

Ichigo was sick of the color white. White brought up a rage in him, like a bull seeing the color red. Ulquiorra tossed him a Las Noches uniform and stood outside. He hated how much it looked like Aizen’s uniform. He hated everything to do with Aizen, actually.

Ulquiorra was waiting outside the door, whether he noticed Ichigo’s lack of shoes or not, he did not comment. “So, what now.”

“You are to see the Octava Espada, Szayelaporro Granz,” Ulquiorra answered with the stiffness of a wooden board.

“Why.”

If Ulquiorra looked like the type of person to express emotions, he would have sighed extremely loud and probably bang his head on the nearest surface for good measure. “The Octava will simply access you, as you are a new member.”

Ichigo frowned. “What if I don’t want to.”

“Aizen-sama ordered you to see him,” Ulquiorra responded, not leaving any room for questions or debate. Ichigo made a sarcastic face behind Ulquiorra’s face and mouthed the words in a mocking manner.

The corridors went on forever and Ichigo had already lost count of how many turns they’ve made. He had long stopped paying attention and set his body on autopilot.

_“I spy with your little eye, something white,”_ Zangetsu said. Ichigo was already sick of this game. Everything was white. There was no winning.

_“It’s the walls isn’t it,”_ Ichigo thought.

_“No, it’s actually your uniform.”_ Ichigo groaned at the reminder of what he was wearing.

Ichigo didn’t realize they stopped moving and nearly crashed into Ulquiorra. “We’re here.” He announced. One of the hollows stood out in front, easily recognized from the nauseating pink hair.

“Ah, you are Ichigo Kurosaki,” the Hollow―most likely Szayel―had a smile like a razor and eyes boring into him with a small madness lurking beneath. Ichigo didn’t want to be left alone in a room with him. He turned around, about to start ranting on how much he was willing _not_ to go with this very strange man but Ulquiorra was gone.

Ichigo internally groaned and turned to face Szayel.

“Well then, shall we begin?”

* * *

 

Ichigo considered himself lucky that Szayel wasn’t overly greedy. Sure, there were blood and reishi samples but that was all that it extended to, even though just from the look in Szayel’s eyes, he knew that the scientist would not hesitate to dissect him on the spot.

“Are you done yet?” Ichigo questioned impatiently. He toyed with the bandages on Zangetsu’s hilt as he sat crisscrossed on the cold table. 

“I am,” Szayel barely glanced up from the samples. “Your blood is unique on its own. Curiously, your blood is that of the Quincies, since it serves as some sort of conduction for reishi.”

Ichigo’s cheek rested on his hands. “That’s not really any news.”

“It must not be to you,” Szayel responded absentmindedly. “But that isn’t as strange as your reishi signature.”                                                                           

 “How so?”

Szayel examined the reishi sample, a petri dish where a colorful mass of reishi was stored in. A collection of blues and reds merged together to form different shades of violet. Ichigo could pick out some of the colors, the red of Zangetsu and the blue of the Old Man. “Your reishi signature is unique, even among Hollow-Shinigami hybrids. Unlike Arrancars, who start off as Hollows or Shinigami who develop hollow powers, you seem to have had both since the very start. It’s a complete even balance, and that itself is hard to manage except you also have Quincy blood in you. The fact that you have even managed to survive being born, much less childhood is, frankly, a miracle.”

Ichigo stayed silent. He was fully aware of what he is, but to hear it from someone else like this, it was different. He could remember the Monster, a sickening smile with white robes over black. His hand gripping Ichigo’s wrist like a shackle, dragging him away kicking and screaming. _An Abomination._ The word was uttered to him when he was seven. _An abomination. A danger to the balance._  

_“You are not an abomination,”_ the Old man firmly halted Ichigo’s thoughts. _“You may be different, but you are not something that was not meant to exist.”_

Ichigo took a deep breath. The Old Man was almost always right.

“There’s more.” Szayel’s words broke Ichigo from his mulling. “The most interesting part is this.” Szayel pointed to the sample and at first Ichigo didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary‒at least relative to him―and was about to tell Szayel that he was clearly mad and should be locked up, but he saw the wisps of a color darker than black. Flames curled around the colors, absorbing the radiance of the others like a black hole. Ichigo’s palms were slick with sweat as Szayel went on. “Now, this black mass doesn’t feel like reiatsu―at least not in a recognizable way.”

Ichigo decided to humor Szayel. “How so?”

Szayel set the sample down. “Those flames are in a way reiatsu, specifically the type that is emitted from biotic organisms. All things radiate have some sort of spiritual energy, with notable differences between non-living and living. But, these flames don’t feel like it belongs to a living organism, nor a non-living organism. It’s alien, to put it into more simpler terms. It doesn’t fit into any category that reiatsu is typically organized by.”

Szayel’s gaze bore into Ichigo, visually dissecting him and everything abnormal about his appearance. “Those flames, they destroyed Grimmjow’s spiritual particles at a molecular level. He hasn’t been able to regenerate it. What happened to that reishi, who knows.” Ichigo fought the urge to lean back, to avoid the intensity of Szayel’s stare. He should not have used those flames.

 Ichigo’s mind fumbled for an excuse to deter Szayel from discovering the truth. He was fully prepared to completely bullshit his way through this conversation. He could say that it was a product of his Quincy powers, or that those were his Hollow powers. Anything but the truth.

He opened his mouth a presence cut him off. Ichigo wanted to flinch as one of the Hollows glided in with regal dignity. A white crown, a mask, sat on his head and he looked old and weary with age. Ichigo sensed something else, the whispers of an apocalypse, the smell of rotting carrions, which all followed him. The Arrancar merely glanced at Ichigo.

For once, Szayel’s focus shifted upwards into something of annoyance flickering in his eyes. “What do you want, Barragan?”

“He’s coming with me,” Barragan replied, the order clear in his words.

Szayel pouted. “But my research–”

“We can finish it later!” Ichigo practically shouted with absolutely no intention of following through with it. He slid down and scrambled after Barragan, hiding the slight _sonido_ in his steps.

* * *

 

Golden light filtered through the leaves and down onto Karin’s face. Did she have to wake up? She wanted to continue resting on her soft bed.

Then she remembered everything that occurred last night and shot up, hissing in pain as her arm shifted slightly in the commotion. Where was Yuzu? Where was the Shinigami―Rukia Kuchiki?

Faint, gentle thumps knocked against her wooden door. Yuzu peeked her head in. “Karin are you awake?”

“Yeah,” Karin gritted her teeth.

“Mom asked me to tell you that if you’re feel better you should come downstairs,” Yuzu responded.

Karin winced and tugged the covers off. “I’m up.”

Yuzu had already raced down the halls, the faint thuds of her feet against the wooden floors sounded throughout the house. Karin fully got up, fumbling through the door on her endeavor and down the stairs. Her parents were at the table, breakfast set out like normal on a Saturday morning. It seemed like a normal morning at first.

Then she noticed Rukia at the table in a yellow dress she distinctly remembered her sister owning, looking not too out of place in the modern world. That is, of course, not counting how all her focus was directed onto the coffee sitting in front of her, studying it like it was an exotic plant. Karin blinked. “What.”

Isshin’s eyes lit up. “Oh, you’re up!” Karin slid into her usual seat right next to Yuzu.

Masaki cleared her throat, directing all the eyes on her. “So, would you tell us what happened?” Her eyes seemed to bore down on Rukia. There was no anger, but steel underlaid her gaze.

Rukia fidgeted in her chair, setting the cup down. “There was a Hollow. Your daughters were in danger, so I helped them the best I could, but I was injured during the battle.” She glanced at Karin. “I gave her my Shinigami powers, so we could both live.”

Masaki’s iron gaze focused on Rukia. “But you couldn’t defeat an ordinary Hollow?” Rukia didn’t meet Masaki’s eyes.

“It’s not her fault!” Karin interjected, suddenly rising from her seat, her hands planted on the table with a loud thud. “She was hurt trying to save me because I was stupid and tried to play hero!”

“Karin―”

“No,” Karin responded firmly. “It’s not right to punish her for something that I also had a part in.” Rukia’s eyes were wide and remained so as Karin finally sat back down, her heart hammering in her chest from her explosion.

“She’s right,” Isshin said. “No one here is to blame, what happened, happened.”

“Alright then, what about Karin’s new Shinigami powers?” Masaki demanded. “As long as she has those powers, she will be in danger.”

“Then we’ll discuss how to deal with that,” Isshin answered in a similar tone.

Masaki and Isshin gave each other long looks, not angry but not exactly pleased. The air stilled and thickened with apprehension and suspense, practically cracking with danger. Karin looked down. Her food wasn’t appetizing anymore. She pushed away her breakfast. “I’m full,” She announced, pushing her chair back as she stood back, her dishes in her hands. She hurried from the table, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

* * *

 

Karin retired for her bed, flopping onto the soft covers and proceeded not to move or do anything. She wasn’t exhausted, but the energy had become too much for her. It wasn’t reiatsu, but emotions choking out any pleasantry.

She rolled on her back and stared at the ceiling. She had faint memories of the Night. The wind blowing through the black uniform, the reiatsu charging through her bloodstream, the fluidity of her sword as she moved and took down the Hollow. It was exhilarating. It felt _right_.

Rukia wasn’t to blame. It was the Hollow that charged in. It was the Hollow that attacked and nearly killed Yuzu. Rukia offered, but Karin accepted. She could have run, saved herself and dragged away Yuzu but she didn’t. She couldn’t.

“Karin?”

Karin’s gaze drifted to the door. Masaki hovered at the doorway, as if she were deciding whether to enter. Karin made a noncommittal groan, a possible yes. Masaki strolled into the room, taking that as a yes, and Karin pushed herself up into a sitting position.

“So, what’s the verdict?” Karin asked.

Masaki sighed and leaned back a little. “I don’t want you to have Shinigami powers. It would attract too much attention. The Hollows will notice, Soul Society will notice, and you won’t be safe. Rukia is a trained Shinigami, and she should have been able to defeat the Hollow. She shouldn’t have given those powers to you in the first place”

Karin glanced down, silent and in thought.

“I don’t want you to be a Shinigami,” Masaki continued. “But I also don’t want you to be powerless.” Karin’s head turned with surprise to look at her mother. “I taught you two so you could defend yourselves, and I knew that you were struggling with your Quincy powers.”

“I was,” Karin replied softly. “I could barely form a bow and I was useless when it mattered.”

“You are eleven,” Masaki said firmly. “And you fought a Hollow you weren’t supposed to fight in the first place. You must have been terrified”

Karin lowered her hands. She imagined her zanpakto in them, a zanpakto with a blue handle and a diamond-shaped tsuba, edged with spikes like sparks at the tips of the angles. A gold ribbon trailed at the hilt, weathered and battered and she remembered the ribbon streaming behind her in arcs as she fought. The blade gleamed in the light, dazzling like how the sun’s rays struck water. The memory was so vivid, ingrained in her mind. She was a Quincy, through and through, but she was also more than that.

“And now I have power,” Karin‘s replied, unyielding and determined. “I don’t want to be useless ever again.”

Masaki’s gaze drifted away, and Karin followed to movement, resting her eyes on the picture frame sitting on top of their dresser. It was the last picture of her whole family, a toddler Karin and Yuzu with a boy with bright orange hair and a wide smile, her brother. The sting of a lost sibling burned through her soul. She was only three at the time, but she could distinctly remember he brother’s hair as she trailed behind him like a lost puppy. She couldn’t have imagined how it felt for her mother.  

“Mom?”

She stared distantly, her eyes unfocused as she was submerged in her memory, her hands tightened into fists. “He was right in front of me when I saw _that man_ take him away.”

This was private, her mother’s feelings were raw with despair like an open wound. Her voice cracked. “He was right _there_ , but I couldn’t do anything accept watch. I had powers back then, but I was still useless. I failed Ichigo as a mother, and now he’s gone.”  

Karin had no idea how to respond. There were no words she could say.

“I can’t lose you or Yuzu ,” Masaki whispered. “I already lost _one_ child and I can’t afford to lose another.”  Her hands reached out and grabbed Karin by the shoulders, her grip firm but not rough and her eyes were bright with strength. “Karin, I understand that you want strength, I get it.” Her arms closed around Karin’s shoulders in a hug. “Please don’t put yourself in danger. You can rely on others too.”

Liquid dripped on Karin’s shoulders and she returned the hug. Masaki’s hug tightened in return. Karin’s head rested on Masaki’s shoulders.

“Thanks, Mom. I won’t make you worry.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ichigo doesn't know what a furry is. he just happened to call him one. he's a feral 15 year old, so that's to be expected


	3. on solitude

Ichigo had no idea how long they travelled through Las Noches, speeding through the halls. Barragan never said anything since the lab and Ichigo wondered if the old man died along the journey and his body was just being pulled along by his spirit that happened to stay behind for the ride.

 

He had no idea where Barragan was taking him. The desperation skewed his judgement and now he was questioning on whether he should be concerned or not. He opened his mouth, ready to complain when he felt the cold breeze on his skin, and the crushed stones under his feet digging into his skin. Hueco Mundo’s night sky arched overhead. He hadn’t even realized that they had left Las Noches. “I thought Aizen wouldn’t allow us to leave,” Ichigo mused. Aizen never clarified, but he seemed like the controlling type.

 

“I do not follow a Shinigami’s orders,” Barragan finally responded. They had stopped, hanging at least a fair distance away from Las Noches.

 

 “Yeah, he’s an asshole but I expected his Espada to be more loyal to him. Aren’t you all supposed to be obedient to him?”

 

“Aizen is a Shinigami,” was the matter-of-fact reply laced with bitterness. “He is not of Hueco Mundo, nor would he ever be. I am the King of Hollows; I have no reason to follow a man who stole my throne.”

 

Ichigo’s eyebrow arched. “You’re the former king and you serve someone like that? Why?”

 

Barragan’s eyes bore into him, analyzing every inch of him. Ichigo wanted to shrink under his gaze but stood his ground and glared back at him. “Why do _you_ obey Aizen, godling?”

 

 _Godling._ Nobody ever called him that. Nobody except people who were aware of the truth. Ichigo backed away, his hand reaching for Zangetsu. Could he kill Barragan and get away with it? He didn’t know how high ranking he was, but he had to be _at least_ top five Espada. But he was also one of Aizen’s top soldiers and Aizen would probably kill him.

 

“I have no idea about what you’re talking about,” Ichigo answered slowly, hiding the shakiness the best he could. His heart pounded in his chest. His fingers clung onto the bandage-wrapped hilt like a lifeline.

 

“Don’t act ignorant,” Barragan rumbled. He strolled up to Ichigo, towering above him. “You look and feel like a god.”

 

Ichigo scowled. “What’s it to you?” The shorter Zangetsu slipped out from his side and directed at Barragan. He could fire a Getsuga Tensho from short range, that would give him enough time to either run or fight. “What do you want with me?”

 

Barragan made no movement. His eyes looked down at Ichigo―no, they weren’t eyes, at least not anymore. They shifted into holes, oozing viscous darkness. A humanoid skull for face, horns protruding in a crown with maggots writhing among the rot. There was a cloak of violet miasma spreading like wings behind him but hardly in the image of an angel. His form was hazy, a mirage. And like a mirage, it faded in a blink of the eyes. The old man stood before him again.

 

“You’re a god,” Ichigo breathed out. He’s never met any other gods outside of Hell, only heard about them.

 

“So are you,” Barragan replied.

 

Ichigo crossed his arms. “I’m _not_ a god.”

 

Barragan looked like he would have rolled his eyes if he would ever show a real emotion. “Even so, you do have the presence of one. What is your Name?”

 

“Hell named me the Black Sun,” Ichigo replied slowly and with the wariness one should have. His body was still tense. His Name was personal, a part of him and it thrummed in his soul and he hardly let anyone know it.

 

“Your fire,” Barragan nodded. “I was curious about that. Were you also created by Hell?”

 

Ichigo scowled. “Nope. I was just tossed into Hell by a Shinigami. Hell Named me and I guess I got the fire power after that.” He never really put too much thought into his power. It just felt _his_ and that was all that really mattered. His soul burned with a Sun made of Black Flames, hot as the fires of Hell.

 

He squinted at Barragan. The Name was on the tip of his tongue, but the words were the hardest. How gods translated their Name into human words was dependent on how they really felt about it, distinguishing words from pure sensations that Names had. He had the faintest idea of Barragan’s Name. He heard it in sounds of whispers, buzzing like locusts, wrapping around him like a cloak. Not in words, for gods could not speak in human tongues. The distinct sensation of rot and death oozed the air like the stench of a rotting corpse with a noble pressure to it.

 

“The Crown of Age,” Barragan announced, as if sensing Ichigo’s thoughts. “I am the Third Star of Hueco Mundo, the King of Hollows.”

 

“Is Hueco Mundo like Hell?” Ichigo asked. The question had burned in his mind for a while, ever since he got here. _Curiosity_ , Ichigo thought, _was a bitch_.

 

Barragan stared up into the sky. “She has always watched over us, She’s our Matron as well as our kingdom.”

 

Ichigo followed his gaze. He squinted into the abyss. Nothing but darkness pervaded the skies, devouring all the stars and leaving nothing but the moon.

 

Ichigo stared at the Moon and he blinked.

 

The Moon blinked back.

 

Static invaded his brain, creeping into every crevice with shrill screaming and chittering. It crawled in his mind, not the comforting projection that Hell had used. This was fierce, violent, and deadly. This was a wolf, a predator, looming over a rabbit. The vertigo made him feel like he was spinning around, and his hands flew to his mouth from the sheer _weight_ of the presence. The Moon stared, ripping right into his soul. The Sky seemed to ripple like am ocean, or perhaps contract like a muscle, a body, an organism. It was as if the Sky went dark for a moment, the Moon disappearing behind something like an eyelid. _That was her body_ , Ichigo realized. _Her whole body is the Sky itself._

 

Hueco Mundo’s presence left him, slinking out of his brain. Ichigo didn’t realize that he was gasping for breath. “What the _fuck_ was that?” Ichigo demanded. His brain still rang from the connection and his nerves felt absolutely numb.

 

“Hueco Mundo, the Beast with the Moon for an Eye, the Hunter of Souls, whatever you prefer to call her.”

 

Hell never did anything like this—well, only once. Ichigo swallowed and he just noticed that he had collapsed onto his knees. He shakily stood up, his form was still trembling from the experience. Ichigo glanced up again. The Moon seemed normal, if a bit brighter. It looked normal to people who would never know. It would just have just a moon, not the eye of a monster whose very presence was infinite.

 

“So, what was the point of bringing me here to meet your god?” Ichigo interrogated.

 

“You seem to not know much about other gods,” Barragan responded. “Your form is not controlled.”

 

“Don’t bullshit me,” Ichigo snarled. “There’s always an ulterior motive. What do you want with me?”

 

Barragan’s eyes narrowed. Maybe he wasn’t used to such rudeness from someone who looked like he would struggle reaching the top shelf of anything. “You are inexperienced in being a god. You lack any knowledge of what it means to be one. Do you know of how the gods became the way they are?”

 

Red-hot anger blazed underneath his skin, firing off like supernovas. “I’m fine as I am,” Ichigo hissed out from gritted teeth. _I’m not weak,_ was the voice of the nine-year old child, swaying from the heat, battered from his clashes from the Sinners _._ The scars on his body still burned, old wounds stung like a brand on his skin. Perhaps Barragan could sense the change in temperament but gave no visible response. “I don’t _need_ your help.”

 

Ichigo spun on his heel and stalked off back to Las Noches.

 

* * *

 

 

Ichigo flashed forwards across the desert. Great, he can’t stop getting chills up his spine just from looking at Hueco Mundo’s Sky, knowing of what was above the sands. He threw a glance over his shoulder. The Moon still watched him from above. He muse seem like a threat to Hueco Mundo, a foreign god from another world. The sands themselves no longer felt like grains of mineral, but like the beaches in Hell on the shores of the lava oceans; beaches made of crushed bones, piled up with lost hopes and dreams and into a kingdom of Sinners.

 

Las Noches rose in the distance, as cold and pale as always. He was repulsed from the sight. Ichigo’s feet slowed down into a walking pace. He didn’t feel like hurrying. Aizen could kill him for his insolence and he probably wouldn’t have cared so much.

 

Distantly, he could make out Hollows prowling the sands. Ichigo didn’t doubt that they were dangeroud, no matter how much stronger he was than the ordinary Hollow. What was it like, to be a Hollow on the Hunt? Did they wander the dunes, fearing for lives or did they seek out others? Ichigo never really encountered many Hollows, all he knew came from Zangetsu. The Sinners, after all, were unknowing humans who lacked much knowledge of the world they lived in and were usually untrustworthy.

 

A rumble echoed in the distance, the ground shook from the force. Ichigo whipped towards where the sound was, his swords in his hands and raised t act. The ground ripped open, scattering sand as a colossal purple worm emerged from the earth.

 

“Wha the fu–”

 

Ichigo shrieked as he fell backwards from the force and the surprise and was extremely lucky he didn’t accidentally impale himself on his own swords. A giant worm. He didn’t bother moving from his position, staying limp as the words repeated through his head and he finally processed that word. _A giant worm_.

 

He wanted to go home.

 

“Hey mwister, are you alwight?” Large hazel eyes peered down. “Shouwd I dwool on him?”

 

He shot upward. “No thank you!”

 

There was a child in front of him, an arrancar from what he could tell, with her broken pale mask sitting above her teal hair. She had a scar running down her face, jagged like a blade. He squinted. Yep, he should have stayed in Hell.

 

“Nel, stay away from him! We don’t know what he has!” A voice screeched. A purple hollow—an Arrancar picked up the tiny Arrancar by the back of the sack she wore and kicked up a spray of sand directly into his face.

 

Ichigo shrieked and his hands flew towards his eyes. His eyes _burned_ as he frantically rubbed his eyes.

 

 “See? He’s probably rabid! Don’t get close, he’ll probably bite!”

 

Ichigo let out a string of violent and descriptive curses. He scrambled away, wringing the last of the sand out of his eyes. “What the hell was that for?”

 

The purple Arrancar had his hands pressed against both sides of the kid’s head and stared at him in aghast. He didn’t notice the other Hollow beside him, yellow and round with a mask decorated with red markings, black spots dotted the yellow. Ichigo snorted and climbed to his feet. His eyes still stung, but that would eventually wear off. He growled at the Arrancars like a wolf and nearly turned away to return to Las Noches when Nel practically leapt in front of him. “Are you a Howwow? You don’t feew wike any Howwow I’ve seen!”

 

Ichigo huffed and crossed his arms. “I’m not exactly a traditional Hollow.”

 

“Awe you an Awancaw?” Nel questioned, pointing at the larger Zangetsu strapped on his back.

 

“No.”

 

“Awe you a Shinigami?” Nel asked, trembling as she scooted away from him.

 

“No!” Ichigo snarled. Perhaps his form glitched again, given their wide eyes. Ichigo sighed and composed himself, calming the Fire burning in his soul. “I am not a Shinigami and I will _never_ be one.” The word ‘Shinigami’ reopened those wounds that he though he has long since healed, the raw _pain_ and _agony_ that still pervaded his waking moments.

                                                                                                                                                    

“Oh.”

 

Ichigo grunted in response but carefully trained his eyes on her. There was no reason for her to talk with him, after all, Hollows kept to themselves, wary of outsiders. The desert was lawless with danger at every corner. She may have been a kid, but so was Ichigo when he had to learn to be just as dangerous to survive.

 

His hands trembled around Zangetsu’s hilt and he didn’t know why. Perhaps he feared the kid, yet he didn’t know why. Maybe it was the reality he lived in, where no dreams existed, where danger was so permeated into his life that he feared a child who has not yet harmed him. But everyone will hurt him, one way or another, and he had to defend himself.

 

“What’s youw name?” Nel asked. He twitched a little, it appeared as though she just wanted to learn everything about him.

 

“Ichigo Kurosaki,” He responded, his mouth had moved automatically and Ichigo wanted to curse himself.

 

“So, strawberry,” said the purple Arrancar, and Ichigo forgotten about him. He hovered around Nel, a fair distance for safety but close enough where he could scoop Nel up and run. Ichigo wouldn’t have blamed him if he did. The Arrancar treaded a little closer, cautiously and with few steps. His hand grasped Ichigo’s shoulders and he directed him away.

 

“Nel! Bawabawa looks like he wants to tag you!” Nel screamed with joy at Pesche’s announcement as the purple worm enthusiastically slithered around, its tongue waggling around.

 

The purple Hollow pulled Ichigo over, his voice lowered to a whisper. “You’re one of Aizen’s, aren’t you.”

 

It wasn’t a question, but a statement. After all, Ichigo’s white uniform practically blared that signal. Ichigo’s limbs stiffened. He didn’t know how many Hollows held a grudge against Aizen, or how they felt towards his soldiers. His mind ran with different options, whether he should leave or not, whether he should expect to fight his way out or not. He swallowed thickly and nodded his head. The Arrancar simply bowed his head, clearly expecting that answer.

 

“Please, you cannot be around Nel,” the Arrancar pleaded. “She has amnesia, but she has bad memories of Aizen’s armies. She can’t remember, she can’t be exposed back to the violence.” Ichigo’s gaze subconsciously directed towards Nel, who bounced around with the rest of the Hollows trailing behind her. Nel was a child, innocent and sinless. She wasn’t a danger to him, but rather the other way around.

 

“Got it,” Ichigo replied with no confrontation or conflict in mind. He turned one last look at the child and turned away, heading away from the Hollows and back into the endless desert.

 

* * *

 

 

Ichigo slipped in though one of the entrances, the white stone pillars serving as nothing more than a welcoming sign. The security was too lax; anyone could break into Aizen’s fortress.  He pressed down on his reiatsu (after all he _did_ just sneak out) and stretched out his senses the best he could. Ichigo lacked that fine control but he had _some_ skill. Aizen wasn’t even in Las Noches, in fact none of the Shinigami traitors were there. It wasn’t even just Las Noches, but their signatures seemingly vanished from Hueco Mundo all together.

 

Good. Ichigo didn’t want to bother with that fucker. He paced around the halls. He was bored; the constricting walls nearly drove him mad. He could just try to get lost in the sprawling hallways or pick a fight with an Espada. He thought he was as strong as necessary in Hell but now he knew that he was weak compared to any other opponents. The memories of his fight with Grimmjow spawned some sort of rage in him. How arrogant was he, to think that he had achieved all the strength he could achieve at his current power? He hated being weak, the very thought of being helpless brought up bile in his throat. He could not be weak, not ever again.

 

His aimless wanderings finally landed him into an empty room, devoid of even furniture against the pale-yellow walls. At least Las Noches had some color to it, even though it still felt as lifeless as ever. Ichigo pulled out both Zangetsus. He hadn’t had any time to do anything and he already felt restless, ready to blast away any emotions he had. He raised the largest blade, feeling the energy swirl in his sword and brought it down. The energy slash carved into the wall, scattering debris and rocks around. Already, he felt some of his frustration ebb away, maybe not completely but he felt slightly better as he let out a breath of air.

 

“You’re the new guy, aren’t you?” A yawn sounded behind Ichigo and he spun around, his hand already reaching towards Zangetsu. He groaned in frustration. It was just one of the Espada, and he was tired of being startled by someone who wouldn’t even harm him. The Arrancar was human, his skin a mild tan with wavy brown hair reaching to the base of his neck, and blue-grey eyes. A jaw bone hung around his neck with a Hollow hole just beneath.

 

“Who the hell are you?” Ichigo demanded, allowing his hands to fall to his side but close enough to the small Zangetsu.

 

“Coyote Starrk.”

 

“Your rank.”

 

“Primera.”

 

Ichigo sucked in a breath. He already struggled with Grimmjow and he didn’t want to fight one of the strongest if he could avoid it, although his instincts burned with the desire for someone to push his limits once again, but his survival instincts disagreed. Zangetsu scoffed in his mind. _“Pussy.”_ Ichigo repressed the urge to roll his eyes in front of someone who did not know he was communicating to someone else.

 

“So, what does the Primera have to do with me?” Ichigo inquired, his voice having the slightest edge of sarcasm. Starrk seemed to brush that off and yawned again, scratching the back of his head.

 

“Well, for one thing you’re making a ruckus. Some of us are just trying to take a good nap.”

 

Ichigo scowled but slid Zangetsu back into their sheaths. He hardly liked being told what to do but the Primera seemed like one of the strongest of the bunch, and Ichigo didn’t feel like angering him. “Okay.” He had already started turning away to find somewhere else he could destroy until Starrk spoke up again.

 

“Hey, I kinda wanted to talk to you for a bit.”

 

His feet spun around to face Starrk. “What is it?” He responded curtly.  

 

“I was just wondering where Aizen found you,” Starrk said with an absent-minded air to him. Ichigo frowned.

 

“It’s nonya.”

 

“What―”

 

“Nonya business,” Ichigo bit back. Irritation laced in his voice and Starrk seemed to back off, if only a little. He involuntarily bridled at the insistent prodding.

 

“I was just wondering,” Starrk simply replied, his hands raised in a weak surrender. “You seem lonely.”

 

Ichigo nearly leapt at Starrk. He didn’t even need Zangetsu, his fingers ached to just tear into Starrk. The only present form of his rage was the way he tensed, the way his eyes hardened and how he bristled. “What did you just say?”

 

Much to everyone’s wonder, Starrk kept talking. “You have my eyes from long ago, it’s like you haven’t actually talked to someone.”

 

“Well, you’re wrong!” Ichigo snarled. He had Zangetsu and Hell, he needed no one else. The bastard knew nothing about him! Since when did he think he could say that? “I’m not lonely!”

 

He could not be lonely, he had Zangetsu and Hell. But his thoughts faltered slightly. It was a forced realization. He _only_ had Zangetsu and Hell, and he had left Hell. He could never talk to the Sinners, especially after last time, and it wasn’t like they were for good conversation. Hatred burned in him, but he could not distinguish where it was aimed.

 

Although, he definitely hated the Arrancar standing in front of him. He clenched his fists, itching to tear into _something_. Perhaps Starrk was aware of the growing murderous intent encompassing Ichigo, blue and red sparks flying from his body as his thin control over his reiatsu began to waver.

 

“What the fuck do you know?” Ichigo continued, his words began speeding up and grew louder. “What right do you have to accuse me of being lonely? You’re sorely mistaken, and you’ve always been.” The edge of his head ached, the spot where his horn often grew from. Zangetsu’s smile grew on his face, a crescent moon of white teeth as silver as the moon. God, he wanted to mutilate this fucker, grab his head and beat it against the side of the wall―

 

_“Ichigo.”_

The calming voice of the Old Man brought him back to reality, as he always did. He always calmed down Ichigo’s violent temperament. Zangetsu had slithered back, his murderous rage leaving him, and all that was left was cold, empty exhaustion. Ichigo took a long breath and exhaled, his eyes closed and reopened alongside his breathing. He didn’t notice how tightly he gripped Zangetsu, which had spontaneously been pulled out much to his confusion, so tightly that his palms were soaked with sweat. Carefully, he slid Zangetsu back. He didn’t need it to fuel his anger, bringing up the violence that only really assisted him in Hell. He took one last stuttering breath and let himself cool.

 

“You’re just a child,” Starrk muttered. Ichigo wanted to laugh. He hasn’t been a child for years. That child died when he fell into Hell, forged and tempered with violence until he was unrecognizable. He hasn’t been a child in ages; he had been a survivor.

 

 “Whatever,” Ichigo responded lowly, pushing back an unresponsive Starrk and stormed off into the next corridor, hoping to lose himself back into the maze. As long as it was away from this place, away from him.

 

* * *

 

 

Ichigo took to glowering at everyone who gave him the odd glance. It made his skin crawl and hatred boiled in him. He was a freak, and he already knew that. He was an abomination, and he already knew that. The Shinigami already told him so.

 

The sudden onslaught of negative thoughts was expected. He often drowned in them when he first was cast down to Hell, after all it was no environment for a child.

 

His feet moved without his command as he drowned in his thoughts. All he really wanted to do was leave, anywhere but here. The walls felt too constricting and Ichigo wasn’t used to this, he wasn’t used to being too stationary, too permanent. Too many enemies lurked around at the corners and Ichigo grew wary of his stay. He didn’t want to stay here.

 

Marble ground no longer pressed against his feet but sand and Ichigo looked up at the Eye of Hueco Mundo, as watchful and constant as the stars. A lone tree protruded several meters away from him and Ichigo gravitated towards it. He’s used to resting in odd places, whether it be a cave, a spire of rock, or on the sooty grounds of the last level of Hell. His fingers hardened with Hierro and he dug them into the quartz bark. He wasn’t too high off the ground, and he could see Las Noches in the distance.

 

He swung his leg over the strongest branch and slid on top. His knees were pulled to his chest and he leaned his back against the trunk. It was silent with the occasional Hollow howl in the distance, the desert as empty as the Hollows themselves. It was silent and lonely with nothing but the wind and the moon to comfort him. He stared at the Sky, black as ever with the Moon hanging overhead. He did wonder about the gods, no matter what he claimed. Hell―or Bane of Sinners, hardly explained anything, merely watched him and gave him his Name. It marked him, a godling who navigated the world with the smallest grasp on their powers like a newborn trying to crawl. He hadn’t had the faintest idea of anything, really.

 

His thoughts drifted to that Arrancar and his blood boiled. Starrk knew nothing about Ichigo, not who he was and which dump Aizen pulled him out from. His foot hit against the trunk with a loud _thump-thump_ , growing louder as his internal rant went on. _But_ , the darker part of his mind whispered _, Starrk wasn’t wrong_.

 

Zangetsu’s presence curled in the back of his mind, harsh and grating as a Hollow couldn’t exactly serve as the best comfort, but Ichigo leaned into that sensation. He felt the tug as his spirits pulled him into his Inner World, his Dream. Skyscrapers towered into the skies, reaching beyond mortal comprehension and the skies darkened with a Black Sun hovering above. It wasn’t just the Sun that darkened the sky, but the rain that fell, showering cold droplets onto his face. His world was sideways, confusing him once but he had grown accustomed to the position. He let himself stare into the Sun, after all, the Sun could never hope to harm him. Old Man Zangetsu hung behind him and beside him Zangetsu. They contrasted each other, blacks and whites that opposed each other, but nonetheless were close.

 

“Hey, King,” Zangetsu’s smile was as maniac as ever, stretched abnormally wide but that had long since stopped scaring him. He’s seen worse monsters, and this monster was just as part of him as a shadow, always trailing behind him.

 

A wry smile formed on Ichigo’s lips. Zangetsu had insisted in calling him by that nickname, ignoring Ichigo’s protests until he begrudgingly accepted it. Then, Zangetsu whipped around to face Old Man Zangetsu and stomped right up to him. “Why the hell did you stop us?” Zangetsu demanded. He was fire and fury, like Ichigo, but with a more dangerous edge. Ichigo may have been Hellfire, but only as the purifying flames that burned sin. Zangetsu was the violence that came with fire, the ones that sparked and tortured, choking out the last bits of life out of its victims.

 

The Old Man stared impassively at Zangetsu, his expression had not changed from the constant outbursts he suffered. “You were going to make Ichigo do something he would regret.”

 

“Regret? Ha, you _certainly_ didn’t stop him from killing, never protected him! _I_ did! _I_ made sure that no one can hurt us again! I made sure it didn’t rain and now look at it!” He brandished his hands to the view of the clouds, the dark skies, and the waters that poured into a flood.

 

“Would killing someone make things better? Would that guilt make Ichigo feel better?” the Old Man questioned.

 

“Yes!” Zangetsu snapped back. “He would get over his guilt like he always does!”

 

Ichigo groaned and tiredly spoke up. “Can you guys not fight?”

 

Zangetsu shot the Old Man one last glare and sniffed as he turned away. “If I had my way, no one would hurt us.”

 

“And would you rather kill everyone then?” the Old Man asked. “We would be left alone, with no one else.”

“Oh, so you’re agreeing with _Starrk_ , you fucking _traitor_ ,” Zangetsu spat. He reached for his white copy of Zangetsu, the large one. Ichigo rushed in front of Zangetsu, waving his hands frantically.

 

“Can you guys _please_ not fight?”

 

Zangetsu ‘tched’ and gave the Old Man the evil eye, clearly giving him the silent treatment. He crossed his arms and stood planted into the ground. Zangetsu would sit and wallow in his anger for hours, maybe even days if he was pissed enough. Ichigo honestly placed bets on six hours until Zangetsu’s anger cooled.

 

A yawn erupted from Ichigo as he stood there. When was the last time he rested? He barely had time in between fighting Aizen, Grimmjow, and meeting Hueco Mundo.

 

He didn’t even realize he was falling until he felt arms wrap around him in support. He didn’t even realize who it was but leaned into the warmth that he was deprived of. “Ichigo, go to sleep,” the Old Man ordered, firmly but not exactly strictly. “We’ll protect you.”

 

But he didn’t need protection; he was grown and experienced and independent enough. He wasn’t some child that needed someone to comfort him. And yet, Old Man Zangetsu felt so warm that his eyes began to flutter shut as he tried to hang onto the consciousness the best he could. He fought that urge the best he could, wriggling around sluggishly before drifting off.

 

* * *

 

 

_Hell seemed calm today. The static lightened, no longer pressing against his skull, demanding to be let in so they could Speak to him. He was nine, at least that’s what he thought. He learned that time was unreliable as there was no sun, no moon, and no indication of the sky. He had grown used to Hell, basking in its presence. It was as if Hell didn’t need a real sun, for they were the light._

_A noise, a rattle of chains sounded close. Ichigo turned around and there was a man, a Sinner dressed in white with a black scarf around his head with silver hair poking from underneath. “Who are you?” Ichigo demanded. His voice lacked any hard quality to it. His swords were at his side and he backed away from the strange man like an animal._

_“What’s a little guy like you doing in Hell?” The figure questioned. Ichigo scowled, out of place on someone so young and looked childish on him._

_“I don’t know, what are you doing in Hell? Ichigo answered back. “You’re a Sinner, and the Old Man told me that people like you are bad guys.”_

_“Well, what’s the problem with a little talk?” He sat next to Ichigo, who unconsciously scooted away. He frowned as he stared at the Sinner._

_“The Old Man and my Mom said I shouldn’t talk to strangers,” Ichigo replied. “And Zangetsu doesn’t like you.” He shuddered at the horrible, violent things Zangetsu wanted to do. It was a constant whisper that pervaded his mind. His tiny hands trembled at the vey thought of committing such acts._

_“My name is Kokuto,” the Stranger pointed to himself, and then to him. “It’s not a big deal, you can give me your name. You can even tag along with me.”_

_Ichigo’s voice caught in his throat, the rational side of him urged him not to give his name out._ But this is an adult, _his mind also reasoned._ Maybe he can help him.

 

_“My name is Ichigo.”_

_Then everything swirled, turning and turning, spinning in circles. Ichigo now stood at the top of a plateau, blood dripped from his chest._ There was a sword in his chest _, the nine-year-old realized in a panic. His eyes streamed with tears and he coughed, sputtered more red droplets._

_Kokuto stood a bit farther behind him. “Sorry kid,” he announced, not sounding completely sincere at all. “But I need you to open up the Gate.”_

_Ichigo was on his knees sobbing. He was a big boy, wasn’t he? Why was he crying? His Mom wasn’t here to kiss him until he was better. His Dad wasn’t here to play jokes and make him laugh in spite of his tears. His sisters weren’t here to hug him, wailing with him._

_He was alone. He had nobody._

_And Ichigo screamed, a howl of despair and anger. He levelled a glare burning with rage that rivalled the sun at Kokuto, that_ bastard. _The howl morphed, transforming into something primal and his heart, his shattered and broken heart grew spiderwebs of cracks in it and slowly cracked apart. The red blood pooling from his mouth became saturated with white ooze that began to stretch over his face. He hated Kokuto, he hated that Shinigami, the Monster, the King._

_With one last broken scream to the heavens, the white fluid enveloped Ichigo’s face, blinding him from the soon-to-be corpse. His mouth twisted into a mockery of a grin with his teeth bared like an animal, the violence a little boy shouldn’t have. For the first time he wanted to_ kill.

_And he did._

_He shredded Kokuto apart, letting his viscera lay in a mess at his feet. His hands were bloody, red and staining his now pale hands. A short distance away, a broken black sword was embedded into the ground, the blade sliced in a half. A broken body with wide open eyes with blood dripping from his lips and burns scattered across the body. The nine-year-old stared into the destruction with an empty look into his eyes, a shattered expression befitting that of the corpse at his feet. Black Fire raced through his veins and the Name granted chanted in his mind, the purr of Hell and Zangetsu in his mind, content with the blood spilled._ You’re safe now. The danger is gone.

 

 **Black Sun, destroy your enemies. Rend the Heavens asunder and scatter it into ash** _. Black Fire coiled around him, bringing no soft warmth but burning hatred, but to whom it was directed to, he couldn’t tell._

_His hands were red and stained on white with sin, the Black Fires still continued to burn, scorching his arms._

Ichigo shot up, his limbs tangled in the commotion and he nearly slipped off the tree. There were tears in his eyes and he blinked them away, furiously wiping at his eyes. Stupid, why does he cry. It was stupid, everything was stupid. There was no point in crying. He hasn’t cried in years.

 

“A nightmare?” A voice asked and Ichigo whirled around. His eyes were red, and his emotions ran high as his sword in his hands. He recognized that voice, that shitty voice.

 

“What the hell are you doing here, Aizen?” Ichigo demanded.

 

A smile (false, like _him_ ) made its way on his face. “Can I not be concerned about a subordinate?”

 

Ichigo let out a bark of laughter, a harsh and cold sound. “As if! You’re here to check on me so I don’t run away!”

 

“My subordinate had a nightmare, am I not allowed to be concerned?” Aizen questioned. “You didn’t even stay in your room.” It was those damned words, the ones that contorted his thoughts. Ichigo scowled but didn’t say anything. He didn’t even know he had his own room.

 

Aizen sighed. “You must not trust me, but I understand.”

 

Ichigo bit back the ‘ _like hell you do’_.

 

“It is the loneliness, is it not?” Aizen looked convincingly sympathetic, so real that Ichigo almost believed him. “The loneliness that gnaws at your soul and consumes you. No one can stand at your level, nor can anyone be trusted. A lonely existence with no close friends, for they envy you, and you lack a family who once loved you.

 

“After all, Hell is no place for a child.” He almost looked pitying. “And you were taken from your family, cast off into a place where all kinds of monsters roamed. How heartless, but that is the way of the Shinigami and the Soul King.”

 

Oh, Ichigo knew that. That familiar, burning Black Fire yearned to destroy the King, and reduce him to ash.

 

“And that is what I aim to do,” Aizen announced. “I will kill the Soul King and I will shake Soul Society to its core and change it, so no child will suffer again in the name of ‘justice.’”

 

Ichigo stared at his hands. They no longer trembled like a leaf, but scars ran through them from old battles. Even if not visible, his hands were red and soiled. The Soul King did this. The Soul King and the Shinigami did this to him.

 

“The Soul King brought suffering,” Aizen said. “I’ve seen the effects, how it’s ripped away lives. Soul Society has hurt many, all under the guise of justice.”

 

“The Soul King stole my life from me,” Ichigo finally responded. He had no idea why, but he felt compelled to say something. “I’m dead to my family and I lost the chance to be a child for a long time. The Soul King put me in Hell, with Sinners who would backstab you at any given time, where violence is so prevalent that there are sometimes seas of blood. I want that bastard _dead_.”

 

Aizen nodded and smiled like he understood. “Then I, _we_ , shall make sure the Soul King dies. You should come back to Las Noches, it is too cold out here.” There was a gray cloak draped across his shoulders. Was he shivering? It _was_ cold. He turned to say something but Aizen disappeared in a flash, a wisp of movement.

 

Ichigo stared at the place where Aizen stood. Maybe he was wrong about Aizen. After all, he seemed genuine in his hatred for the Soul King and he _understood_. He sat there, swinging his feet absentmindedly, tugging the cloak over himself. He slid down the tree and stared at this distant form of Las Noches. It was time to head back, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ichigo: no one needs to know my tragic backstory  
> ichigo, like 10 minutes later: so it all started when i was seven-
> 
> god ive been wanting to reveal hueco mundo, and i had so much fun with god lore cause i have never shut up disease and i really enjoy trying to world build!
> 
> thanks for reviewing uwu!


End file.
